


Miss Abigail Requests

by Borusa



Category: Dance Academy
Genre: F/F, Light Dom/sub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 20:16:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5018956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Borusa/pseuds/Borusa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set somewhere around Series 1 Episode 14 - "Turning Pointes". Abigail decides that Tara needs coaching, with an odd new dimension.</p>
<p>(Very mild power dynamics, underage characters playing games)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Miss Abigail Requests

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mierke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mierke/gifts).



“You’re such a mess.”

Tara had her face buried in her pillow, and hadn’t noticed that Abigail was awake until she’d spoken. Not that it was easy to tell when Abigail was awake anyway, given that she always wore a sleeping mask.

“I said, you’re such a mess,” Abigail said again.

Tara rolled to face away from her, curling up and dragging some of the bed cover with her.

Abigail wasn’t to be dissuaded, though. “There are thousands of dancers out there that would kill to be in your place, and you’re throwing it away because you’re stupid.”

That was it. Tara sat up, glaring angrily across the darkened room. Abigail was just visible, lying in her ridiculously neat bed, her mask raised to her forehead.

“Yes, I said “Stupid.”. What else do you call it, sobbing away because of some boys?”

Tara didn't have a ready answer, so went on the offensive. "And you're so bright? Being banned from dancing?"

"It's only temporary."

Tara let herself smile in victory, and then felt guilty because of it.  "I work hard in class," she said defensively.

"When you're not making moon-eyes and sighing dramatically. You could be good, but you don't have the drive."

Tara's anger flared. "Prove it."

The smile that spread across Abigail's face was visible even in the half-light. "Three days. For three days, you do whatever I ask, as soon as I ask it. Think of it as a dare, if you like."

"What do I get if I do that?"

"Other than the benefit of my coaching? Hmm. If you get to the end of the three days, I will never interfere with you again. No tricks, no commenting on your endless interminable boy trouble. I’ll leave you alone."

The sinking feeling in Tara's stomach suggested that she was making a big mistake, but she couldn't work out a way to get out of it with grace. "OK. Three days."

"5:30 a.m. The studio."

"Five thirty? This is insane!"

Abigail laughed, not entirely pleasantly. "It's not insanity. It's dedication."

 

***

 

Five thirty a.m. Tara was used to getting up early on the farm, but her waking time had drifted later since she'd come to Sydney. And even on the farm, she might have woken at this time, but not been doing things. But here she was, with the lights on in the dance studio, warming up at the bar and waiting for Abigail, silently muttering darkly to herself.

The door swung open and Abigail walked in. How could she look so cheerful?

"Good morning, Tara," she said.

"Abigail. You saw me in our room only twenty minutes ago!"

Abigail tutted, and set her hands on her hips. "I think you meant, "Good morning, Miss Abigail.""

"Miss Abigail?" Tara couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"Well, if I'm to be your teacher, you should address me as "Miss". Or we could end this right now."

"We could?"

Abigail nodded. "Of course we could. All you have to do is admit you're a failure, and we could stop."

Tara shook her head. It might all be a stupid game, but she was going to win it. Not having to look over her shoulder in case Abigail stabbed her in the back was a prize well worth forsaking a little pride.

"No?" Abigail said. "Well then, we'll try again. Good morning, Tara."

"Good morning, Miss Abigail." Tara felt her cheeks warm as Abigail nodded graciously.

The next hour was torture for Tara. "These are just basic exercises," Abigail scolded her. "And you do them wrong, every single time. And every time you do them wrong, you get worse. Whereas if you do them right, you get... what, Tara?"

"I get better, Miss Abigail." Tara was trying, she really was. But Abigail seemed even more demanding Miss Raine.

"And doing them right means doing them perfectly, which means this angle should be ninety degrees and not ... well, whatever saggy angle that is." Abigail's hands gripped Tara's arm, and lifted it.

Tara turned to glare at her, only to be met with an implacable stare and a self-satisfied grin. "Yes, Miss Abigail," she said, defeated for the moment, and adjusted her pose as instructed.

 

***

 

"So," Kat asked, "Beach this evening?"

Tara was just about to agree when she caught sight of Abigail standing further along the corridor, her arms crossed and her head shaking almost imperceptibly. Tara sighed. "I really ought to stay and catch up on some schoolwork," she said.  "I've got that essay to write for English."

"That's not due for like three days," Kat said, incredulously.

"I know, but if I get behind ... I'll never catch up."

"Suit yourself," Kat said, before grumpily turning away and heading up the stairs.

Tara looked back to where Abigail was standing, and saw her nod with approval. Tara smiled, proud of herself for doing the right thing, and it was only when she was three-quarters of the way to class that she came to her senses. "She's getting inside my head," she muttered to herself as she slung her bag into the corner.

"Who is?" Sammy had walked up behind her while she wasn't looking.

"Miss ... Raine." Tara breathed a silent sigh of relief that she'd caught herself in time. That would have been a hard thing to live down. Though maybe not harder than the Ethan-letter-thing. She shook her head to wipe that painful memory away. She had to concentrate on class, or Miss Abigail would have her doing exercises to who-knows-what-time.

 

***

 

At nine-thirty, a time that, normally, Tara would be in the common room with her friends, she was instead lying exhausted on her bed. Two extra classes, both arduous, had left her without the energy to do anything but flop around.

"You don't sleep well enough," Abigail said, entering through the door in a procession of one.

"I don't?" Tara felt that she slept perfectly well.

"That's "I don't, Miss Abigail."."

"Here too?" Tara felt shocked, but once again was met by Abigail's implacable stare. After a moment, she sighed and backed down. "I don't, Miss Abigail?"

"You don't. So I will help you." Abigail produced a sleeping mask, not as frilly as her own - just a plain black domino mask. "Here, let me put it on you."

Tara sat up on the bed, watching Abigail approach dubiously. She had never slept in a mask before. Abigail lifted it to her eyes, gently sliding the elastic around the back of her head. "There," Abigail said.

Tara turned her head from side to side, but not a glimmer of light penetrated the mask. It was disorientating, and it made all the sounds of the room, of the school, seem so much louder. She could hear her own breathing as loudly as a drumbeat. She faced forward again, and unexpectedly felt Abigail's breath on her face. "Miss Abigail?" she asked.

There was a prolonged silence, laden with tension, before Abigail finally replied. "Good night, Tara,” she said quietly.

Tara was unsure whether she felt relief or disappointment. What she was sure was that the moment had been confusing. "Good night, Miss Abigail."

***

The second day was, if anything, worse. Two additional practices, yes, and Tara had to force tired limbs to move in graceful precision under Miss Abigail's unswerving gaze. But on top of that was the constant stream of messages to her phone. "Bring me a salad for lunch." "Fetch my laundry." It seemed like she spent the whole day running around doing chores. Her friends noticed. She had been having one of those awkward conversations with Christian when her phone beeped, and she hadn't missed the disappointment in his eyes when she ran off to bring Abigail her spare point shoes.

Weirdly, though, she was actually enjoying herself. She didn't seem to have the time to worry about anything. Or the time to make a fool of herself in some embarrassing way. At least, not any more of a fool than she was already, running around after another student.

She found herself looking forward to going to bed. At exactly 9:30, she was sitting on her bed waiting.

"Put your sleeping mask on, Tara," Abigail said.

"Miss Abigail," Tara said, hesitantly. "Could you put it on for me?"

Abigail looked thoughtfully at her, and then came over, sitting as she had the night before. Was it Tara's imagination, or was there some tenderness in her expression? She didn't have long to consider it, though, before darkness enveloped her.

"Good night, Miss Abigail," she said. Once again she felt Abigail's breath on her face, on her mouth. This time, though, she leant forward. Not through any conscious process, but because it felt right. Her mouth touched Abigail's, feeling a moment's hesitation in the other girl's lips before Abigail relaxed and kissed her. It was brief, certainly chaste when compared with kissing Ethan, but it felt very different. More meaningful, in a way.

"Good night, Tara," Abigail whispered, before returning to her own bed.

 

***

 

"Very good, Tara," Miss Raine said. The surprise of it almost caused Tara to fall over. Praise from Miss Raine was not unheard of, but this was the third time this lesson, and that was a record. She glanced over toward the window, and saw Miss Abigail watching. She was looking back at Tara, smug pride all over her face. There was a time that would have caused resentment to flare in Tara, but all she did was look proudly back. And if she thought she could feel the ghost of Abigail's kiss on her lips, that was probably just a chimera.

 

***

 

"So, the three days are nearly up," Abigail said, sitting on Tara's bed.

"Yes, Miss Abigail."

"I suppose you've won."

There was an emptiness in her voice that tugged at Tara's heart. She pursed her lips thoughtfully, wishing she could see Abigail's face. "Miss Abigail?"

"Yes?"

Tara took a deep breath. "I admit I'm a failure." She was pleased to hear Abigail's sudden intake of breath, feel the bed jolt with her surprise.

"Why? You know this means that I'll try and get you. I might even try to get another three days off you."

Tara smiled. "Mmm," she said, noncommittally. A thought struck her, and it was all she could do not to laugh at the idea. "Abigail..." she said.

"What?"

"I want two days from you."

The bed gave another little rock of surprise. "Why?"

Why. Not “No”. "You need to learn to relax. To have fun. To be yourself. It will make your dancing better." She held her breath through the long pause that followed.

"Would I have to call you Miss Tara?" Abigail asked eventually.

This time, Tara laughed. "I think that would be ‘Miss Webster’,” she said tartly, before relenting. “Only if you wanted to.”

There was a thoughtful silence before Abigail spoke again. “That might be fun,” she said.


End file.
